


The Heart of a Courtesan

by soraflye (flitterfly5)



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: M/M, Prince Sho, Romance, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 09:43:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6369868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flitterfly5/pseuds/soraflye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He ran away from the pleasure house. He told himself he would never go back to Sho, the Prince who was always too busy to love him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heart of a Courtesan

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I am not associated with Arashi in any way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
 _On his sixteenth birthday, his mother wove hyacinths into his hair and hugged him to her like she had not done since the top of his head barely grazed her elbow. She had taught him well: how to sing, how to dance, how to speak volumes with the stars in his eyes and ensnare daimyos, princes, even emperors with nothing but a quaver of his perfumed breath._  
  
 _In his hand, she left a white rose. She didn’t speak. That night, she was not allowed to. But he knew every word she was choking back. He watched as she closed the door behind her, and knew that when he saw her again, he would no longer be the innocent boy she knew._  
  
 _“Lift up your face, courtesan.”_  
  
 _The dark voice behind him came to life. There was a swish of fabric as strong legs stepped around him and the pale point of his chin was gripped by two steely fingers._  
  
 _He tilted his face up and stared, not at the brooding eyes before him but at the white rose lying forlorn on the sumptuous bed behind. Soon, it would be all over. He shivered as the hand moved from his chin to his cheek._  
  
 _Soon._  
  
 _He gulped, and let the silk slide silently off his shoulders._  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
There was no time.  
  
Dusk was hanging wearily on the horizon, the world washed edgeless by a drizzle of rain. Panting, Aiba Masaki ducked into a crumbling doorway and closed his battered parasol with a sneeze. The winds were not even that cold, but he had always been delicate in health, and already he could feel chills rattling his chest, his head heavy with what could well be the beginnings of a fever.  
  
“That way!” cried a rough voice. Footsteps followed, many thick booted footsteps, and instinctively, Aiba cowered further into the rotting gate. Six or seven guards ran past, splashing their way through the evening grey.  
  
“Sheath your swords,” ordered their captain curtly. “His Highness wants him unharmed.”  
  
There were muffled clinks of metal as the men obeyed. From his hiding place in the gate, Aiba ventured a peek through the broken wood and stifled a gasp of dismay. The men were fanning out across the stone courtyard, and one was headed grimly in his direction.  
  
There was no time. Aiba withdrew and pulled his wet robes closer to his body, shivering. There was no place to run. Bitterly, he lowered his head and let the raindrops slide off his unravelling hair. He should have known that it was hopeless. He should have controlled his childish temper and stayed in the warm confines of the House.  
  
 _Caged birds never learn to fly._  
  
So why had he even bothered trying to stretch his wings?  
  
The guard was barely five paces away from discovering him. Despairing, Aiba slumped back with a whimper.  
  
“I’ll never forgive you,” he whispered, the world fogging up in a swirl of hot tears. Unconsciously, his fists clenched into vehement little balls against his sodden silks, and his whole body shook as that one arresting face rose to the forefront of his mind despite all attempts to quell it. _I hate you,_ he thought vehemently, _I hate you, curse me, but just let me die already…_  
  
The guard was only two feet away now. Aiba covered his face, willing those haunting round eyes from the cisterns of his mind. He was never going to return to that person; he had vowed never to let those hands touch his skin again. It wasn’t worth it, he told himself. It had never been worth it.  
  
And now, he was nothing but a courtesan outside the walls of his pleasure house, seconds away from recapture and disgrace.  
  
There was one splash as the guard stepped closer, and Aiba lifted his chin just an inch, bracing himself for the moment.  
  
Suddenly, the wall behind him moved, and with a startled squeak, he tumbled backwards through the gate, catching just the briefest glimpse of a fair face with shrewd eyes before his head hit the ground and the world turned pitch black.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
 _“My name is Sho,” said the curled lips when they woke in the morning and terrified, he had jumped out of bed at once, the lily-scented breeze raising goosebumps on his skin._  
  
 _“Your Highness—” He wasn’t supposed to be here still. Courtesans were not spouses; they had no right to be held through the night after deeds of the flesh._  
  
 _“Sho,” repeated the lips patiently, coming closer to sample a taste of his wine-colored shoulder. “My name is Sho.”_  
  
 _Gently, he was pulled back to bed, and only then did he notice the look of concern in those dark eyes._  
  
 _“You bled like a woman.” The arms drew him in more softly than he expected. “I must have lost control inside.”_  
  
 _A cool, prickly thing was pressed into his hand. He looked down and gasped._  
  
 _The rose from his mother. Its white petals now bore a blemish of blood._  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
When he opened his eyes again, he was in a room with one window and no door, and a pair of stubby hands squeezed his fingers warningly as he tried to sit up.  
  
“Easy now, beauty,” said an unfamiliar voice. “You’re still weak.”  
  
He blinked against the jarringly bright morning and gradually, the murky figure by his bedside crystallized into a handsome stranger’s face. He couldn’t suppress a shiver at the way it looked at him, nonchalant and piercingly, like he was simultaneously being healed and interrogated.  
  
“Where am I?” He glanced around. The room was sparsely furnished, but through the window he could see that the rain had stopped. “Who are you?”  
  
The face softened a bit, and it was only then that Aiba noticed the golden hair framing the man’s youthful features. There was another squeeze of his hands, and an unexpected warmth flooded Aiba’s body as the stranger placed a brusque hand on his forehead.  
  
“The fever’s gone down a bit. You should be able to get out of bed today.”  
  
Aiba felt the hand leave his forehead, and instinctively grabbed it. The stranger’s eyes widened in surprise, but there was no displeasure in his face as Aiba sat up, still clutching his hand like a lifeline.  
  
“Who are you?” Aiba asked again, running his eyes over every inch of the stranger’s body. He was shorter in stature, with thin limbs, a slightly hunched back and inscrutable (but also somewhat irascible) eyes.  
  
The man chuckled softly, one hand rising to trace a contour along his silkily pulsating neck.  
  
“I’m Ninomiya, but a beauty like you can call me Nino.”  
  
The touch (and the suggestion behind it) wasn’t exactly anything Aiba was unfamiliar with, but a part of him stiffened involuntarily and Ninomiya seemed to feel it under his ghosting fingers because he suddenly stopped and withdrew his caress, eyeing the courtesan with a strange mixture of pity and disappointment.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Aiba muttered, looking down. He knew he should be acting more eager; already, his upbringing in the pleasure house was chastising him for not melting into Ninomiya’s obvious attraction, but despite that, he couldn’t help a tiny sigh of relief when the man finally stood up from his bedside.  
  
“I saved you from the royal guard.” Nino was looking at him with that piercing expression again. “You may rest now, but I will expect some form of recompense in time.”  
  
Recompense? Aiba eyed him warily. _Of course_ , he thought bitterly. How could he be so naïve? _Everything comes with a price._  
  
Ninomiya held his gaze, but made no move to touch him again.  
  
“I’ll give you three days,” he said quietly and the flicker of desire in his eyes was not lost on Aiba. “Don’t test my patience beyond that.”  
  
Embarrassment flushed through Aiba’s body as he realized what the stranger was asking of him, but he swallowed his unwillingness and managed a wobbly smile, the smooth words of his profession stilted on his tongue.  
  
“Three days,” he agreed meekly. “And after that, you—I mean, I—I’ll repay you however you wish.”  
  
“However I wish?” Nino seemed amused, following the tantalizing tremor of Aiba’s lips.  
  
Resolutely, Aiba nodded. He was a courtesan from the House of Facing Leaves, after all. Perhaps it was time he finally started acting like one.  
  
 “I’ll be yours completely,” he said simply.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
 _They fell in love sometime between winter and spring._  
  
 _Sho paid handsomely to have him all to himself so they could sneak out from the House of Facing Leaves and see the cherry blossoms brave against icy skies. They stole kisses under the raining pink boughs and Sho slipped a fur over his exposed neck before taking his hand and fanning a warm breath over it._  
  
 _“It tickles.” He giggled, but pouted when the prince drew away._  
  
 _“Warm your own hands, then,” Sho retorted with some pink in his face._  
  
 _He laughed, tightening his fingers around Sho’s hand. He wondered if everyone in the palace flirted so clumsily._  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Three days passed, and on the morning of the fourth, Aiba woke up to a rainbow outside his window. In wonder, he stretched his neck out, feeling the dewy air and gazing up at the hazy arc that glistened above his head. He didn’t even hear the footsteps approach until a soft chuckle ruffled the tiny hairs on the back of his neck.  
  
“Enchanted already?”  
  
He turned around, startled, only to come nose-to-nose with a smiling Ninomiya. In the warm light of the sunrise, his savior’s skin glowed richly, but sharpness still glanced untempered from the depths of those dark eyes as they locked him in against the wall.  
  
“Ninomiya-san.” He lowered his eyes and out of habit, lifted a dainty hand to shield his face with a sleeve. “Good morning.”  
  
He hoped Nino wasn’t paying attention to the tremor in his hand. Three days had passed, he knew, and true to his word, Nino had kept out of his way as he recovered. Sometimes, Aiba would look down from his window at the top of the tower (for it was a tower that they were currently in) and see Nino walking out towards the marketplace. He wondered, once or twice, what Ninomiya did for a living. The tower spoke of wealth, but no servants could be seen or heard inside, and despite his palpable presence, Ninomiya himself was always garbed in homespun cloth that not even the lowliest of courtesans would normally wear.  
  
“The morning suits your face.” There was gentle merriment in that voice.  
  
Hesitantly, Aiba peered up over the edge of his sleeve.  
  
“It’s been three days,” he whispered, and it was like a switch snapped on in Nino. The sharp eyes narrowed. A hand darted out to yank him in by the wrist, and the next thing he knew, Aiba was tumbling face first into a heaving chest and the soft pillows he had been sleeping on were rising up to meet his slender body. The loose kimono he wore had somehow slipped off to reveal both his bare shoulders, and Nino… Nino was undressing himself, flinging a dull grey obi aside before turning back to where Aiba lay stunned in the bed. Unbound, the fabric shuffled around his legs and the faint grooves of his chest met the morning light in a sudden lull of quiet.  
  
“You know what to do, don’t you?”  
  
Mutely, Aiba nodded. He mustn’t think of what he’d had in the past, he told himself sternly. He was only a courtesan, after all. This should be coming naturally to him.  
  
Nino had now shrugged out of his robe, and was standing before him, erect and expectant.  
  
Without saying a thing, Aiba crawled forward, his silks spreading behind him on the bed like an embroidered canvas. On his upturned cheeks, the light of the rainbow danced faintly.  
  
He closed his eyes, leaned in, and opened his lips.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
 _He always remembered the day he met Sho’s brother Jun._  
  
 _It happened when they were at the royal tea gardens. Sho was in a musical mood after a visit to the local gallery, and he was in the middle of a circle of jasmine trees, dancing like swirl of petals to Sho’s husky song on the shakuhachi. He turned slowly, twisting the curve of his body into an irresistible angle, and fluttered his lashes down with a slight blush. Sho always made him feel beautiful._  
  
 _Suddenly, the music stopped._  
  
 _He almost tumbled down in surprise. Someone was out there. Sho’s hand grabbed his wrist, and in seconds he was tucked behind a robe of princely burgundy. Against the nip of dusk, Sho’s voice rang out like cool steel._  
  
 _“Does my dancer please you, Jun?”_  
  
 _A pair of dark eyes gleamed from beyond. He couldn’t see them, but they could be felt through the bristles on Sho’s arms. Dancer, he thought, clinging tighter. That’s right. That’s what I am. His dancer. Nothing more._  
  
 _The dark eyes blinked, and he could feel them probing, trying to see his hidden face._  
  
 _He buried his head lower. No dancer would have done that, not with such clear interest from the younger prince. He was forgetting his trade, he knew._  
  
 _But then again, when had Sho ever been mindful about keeping him in his due place? The gilded brow was frowning, and for the first time since his defloration, he saw again a hint of that cold clout, that haughty dominance that marked the man as the Crown Prince of the empire._  
  
 _He shuddered, feeling an odd chill as Jun broke into uneasy laughter._  
  
 _“Come,” Sho commanded, and he barely managed a bow to Jun before hastening to follow the billowing burgundy robes._  
  
 _That night, Sho took him, again and again, until he was exhausted and raw. And as he rose to cleanse himself after, a set of arms pulled him back._  
  
 _“You see the Great Huntsman in the stars?” Sho’s voice was husky, like it wanted to melt into the wind._  
  
 _He looked up out the window and nodded. “Yes, he holds a giant bow.”_  
  
 _“All emperors are hunters.” Sho touched him where evidence of their passion leaked and traced a line of semen across his starlit abdomen. “And hunters do not share what is precious to them.”_  
  
 _The trail on his skin glistened and cooled, but he understood what Sho was saying, and it made him feel warm inside._  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Summer washed away the rainy season, and the tower was resplendent in a mantle of green and gold. Aiba slipped out from the bed within, just like he had been doing every day for the past two months, barely disturbing the other naked body in the sheets.  
  
 _Courtesans are not spouses_. He remembered what his mother had taught him. _Vessels of pleasure have no place in a spent bed._  
  
Men of position should follow these rules too, he thought bitterly, pulling on a loose kimono. They should not clasp him to their bodies after taking him in a deed of the flesh, or try to trace poems onto his skin while spinning stories about the constellations above.  
  
Not when he didn’t belong in their arms to begin with.  
  
“You’re thinking of someone.”  
  
He froze. Through the corner of his eye, he could see Ninomiya move, the pale torso glinting in the dusk. His new master’s face was unreadable, but the voice held a tinge of curiosity as he sat up in the bed.  
  
“Who was he?”  
  
Aiba gave a wry smile. He had started out cold, determined to forget his past, to let Ninomiya take him and drive all memories of that _other_ man from his body, but he should have guessed that Ninomiya would see right through him. Ninomiya had cared for him, after all—wickedly, stubbornly, and never without asking for something in return— but he had _cared_ , and with more than just money. Slowly, Aiba sighed, and closed his kimono.  
  
“He was an important man,” he answered. Too important, he added silently. It had been impossible from the start.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
He looked at the fingers that curled obstinately into the lingering warmth on his pillow, and something in his heart twisted.  
  
“It’s all in the past,” he amended quickly. “I hardly even think about him anymore.”  
  
A thin laugh, and then Nino lay back down with a grunt.  
  
“Liar,” he said, but Aiba could hear the smile in it.  
  
“At least your lies are kind.”  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
 _What was he to the Prince?_  
  
 _A lover, he was taught, a companion to keep the night chills away. In the House of Facing Leaves, they said that princes were lonely creatures._  
  
 _“Stay with me forever,” Sho murmured one time when they were sequestered in the Green Pavilion, naked. “I’ll take good care of you.”_  
  
 _“Is that a promise?” He tilted his head playfully, loving the smile that bloomed over his prince. It was not uncommon for great lords to make empty declarations of love to their courtesans, but something gave him confidence that Sho was not like the others._  
  
 _“You have my word,” answered Sho. “I’ll always be there for you.”_  
  
 _He tucked that promise deep in his heart and clung to it._  
  
 _He had no idea it would grow into pain. Slowly burning, slowly devastating pain._  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The strums of a Western guitar often floated through his window at the top of the tower. Aiba had heard it several times. Its notes were sweet and nonchalant, and many times accompanied by a reedy voice he soon identified as Ninomiya’s.  
  
At first, Nino would sing of an assortment of random topics, from weathervanes to cherry pies (there was even one afternoon where Aiba was sure he heard something about _jellyfish_ , too), but as the courtesan began to laugh more, and as their interactions gradually encompassed more than the mere relief of their mutual needs of the flesh, Nino’s songs changed.  
  
They became more pensive, more joyous (though at times, Aiba heard a tinge of melancholy that was never there before), and the lyrics grew sentimental. Often now, Nino would sing of starlit kisses and nostalgic summers, and just the other morning, Aiba found his comb stopping midway through his hair, arrested by the unreachable rainbow Nino pined for in his song below.  
  
 _Huh._  
  
Aiba gave himself a little shake in front of his mirror.  
  
For a while there, he almost thought Nino was singing about _him_. And it had been so beautiful he almost forgot how much they had yelled at each other and how long he had waited through his loneliness before the foolish escape that had landed him here.  
  
 _I thought you_ wanted _to forget_ , a little voice chided wryly in his head.  
  
 _Do you not?_  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
 _It all began to unravel when Sho was declared Crown Prince. The emperor was getting old, and there were whispers of war brewing to the west. All the great lords were summoned to the capital to repledge their allegiance._  
  
 _Sho seldom left the palace those days. In the House of Facing Leaves, the chrysanthemums drooped their proud heads; the first snowflakes tumbled, swirled and melted into a fuzzy blanket over the courtyard. Every day, the ice grew and the blanket thickened, untouched by the footsteps of pleasure-seeking lords._  
  
 _Inside the pavilion, a pair of eyes gazed out longingly from behind the painted screens._  
  
 _He knew Sho had to be busy. He knew that for Sho, there were bigger things than their perfumed nights together, things like war and strategies and unrestful vassals. But still, he blinked back the hotness in his eyes as the courtesans rehearsed their cloying songs, and he hoped. Every evening by the frosted window, he waited, and he hoped._  
  
 _Sho never sent messengers. No gifts, either._  
  
 _The only way he knew he wasn’t forgotten was the one hundred silver coins deposited like clockwork in his name every month._  
  
 _“For the services of the Green Pavilion,” the note always said. The royal seal would smudge his name lightly—almost unintentionally—but just possessively enough to deter Old Johnny from assigning him any other clients._  
  
 _Every time he saw it, he hated Sho a little more._  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
It was mid-summer when Ninomiya decided he needed to take Aiba to the Sakura Well.  
  
“You look like you need fresh air,” he said curtly. Aiba had not been out of the tower since the day they met, but three months had passed, and Nino figured that the royal guards would have found someone else to chase by now. “Come, I want to show you a place.”  
  
It was the first time he took Aiba’s hand like that, and Aiba’s palm felt warm and soft against his. They came to the clearing where the cherry trees were lush in shades of summer green and he reached up to pluck a dark fruit from the boughs.  
  
“Hungry?” He pressed it against Aiba’s slightly open mouth, laughing at the awe in his face. “They’re wild, not very sweet, I’m afraid.”  
  
The fruit disappeared behind Aiba’s lips, and Nino shivered pleasantly at the lingering touch of tongue on his fingers. He sighed, wishing this moment would last forever.  
  
A new set of footsteps trod across the leaves and in the ripe summer heat, the laugh in Aiba’s throat was abruptly strangled.  
  
“Masa…ki?”  
  
Nino whipped around to face the voice and almost dropped to his knees when he beheld the man to whom it belonged. Arresting even in casual hunting wear, the Crown Prince of the Empire stood out against the surrounding green, a bow across his shoulder and a shakuhachi by his belt. The royal eyes were widened in puzzlement and the bold line of his jaw spoke of some internal tumult, but it was the white tremor in his lip that betrayed the deep hurt in his voice.  
  
“Who is this man, Masaki?”  
  
 _He’s talking about me_ , Nino realized belatedly. _The Crown Prince is upset, and he’s talking about me._  
  
“Why do you eat from his hand? Are you with him now? Did he give you silver? How much? Answer me, Masaki!”  
  
The voice grew sharper with each word. In the rustle of summer, Aiba looked paralyzed. His face was white and the knuckles that clenched his fan were so tight they were bloodless. With a possessive hand, the prince stepped forward, and in a moment of wild abandon, Nino sprang and caught the royal arm midstretch.  
  
“Stop it!” He glared. The prince looked angry, but drew back from Aiba to fix a cold look on Nino.  
  
“I could have you whipped for insolence,” he said icily. “Unhand me.”  
  
Behind him, Aiba gave a whimper, and reluctantly, Nino complied.  
  
“So you’re the one,” he said.  
  
He didn’t even bother concealing his disdain. He had met the prince for all of five minutes, and already he knew he despised him. It made perfect sense, after all. Everything, all those little pieces he’d noticed about Aiba, the melancholy, the hesitancy, they all made sense now.  
  
Darkly, he stared back at the prince.  
  
“Aiba cannot be bought by your silver anymore,” he stated. “You should leave.”  
  
There was a horrified gasp behind him, and he barely had time to react before a royal hand grabbed him by the collar and flung him to the ground. A sharp pain erupted in his side, and he caught sight of a vague green cloud descending upon him.  
  
White roses, he smelled. A pair of eyes blinked in his face, the same ones he made his one-sided love to night after night.  
  
“Nino.” Aiba’s voice was tiny, wavering, and full of dried up regrets. “Please, don’t be mad.”  
  
The last thing he remembered was Aiba’s hand coming down to cup his face and an angry exclamation in the prince’s voice. Then, the world went black.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
 _It was a year before Sho had time for him again, and he could feel the crackle of resentment ignite between his eyes the moment those fur-lined boots stepped across his genkan. Twelve months! He wanted to shout and rant and have Sho hold him and silence him with a string of familiar kisses, but something in Sho’s merry face held him back._  
  
 _“Come, let me kiss you.” The firm arms drew him in, the round eyes twinkling with joy. “Did you miss me?”_  
  
 _Did he miss him? His jaw almost dropped at the audacity of the question. Sho was watching him expectantly, but he did not move an inch, prompting the prince to furrow an autocratic brow._  
  
 _“Is something wrong?”_  
  
 _He stiffened, wanting to laugh out loud at the disconnect that had grown between them. Sho’s eyes were on him, looking concerned, and it was in that instant that he finally realized it: Sho had not the slightest inkling of how he felt. No, to the mighty Crown Prince, he would always be a mere courtesan, pretty, smiling always eager to please. There was no such thing as a sullen courtesan, after all. They were not spouses; they had no right to demand attention or love, or anything beyond the bedchamber time that the silver bought them._  
  
 _That day, he did not move, he defied his prince, and that day, their long quarrel began._  
  
 _~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_  
  
Ninomiya woke up in a dungeon with a bale of hay prickling into his back. Groggily, he looked around and saw a dozing guard outside his cell. The royal burgundy showed through the uniform, and seeing that, Nino picked at a haythistle moodily.  
  
 _Of course_ , he thought, remembering the apology on Aiba’s lips.  
  
 _I suppose it’s time for me to let go._  
  
 _~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_  
 _“No, don’t go!”_  
  
 _The last fight was the bitterest of them all. War was upon the Empire and the Crown Prince was to lead the first charge. The thought of that made him tremble, and he clung to Sho’s sleeve, all dignity scattered like petals on the ground._  
  
 _“No, don’t go!” he wept into the perfumed night. “What of your promise to me, Sho? You said you’d take care of me, but they’ll kill you! They’ll hew you down in the sands of war, and while they sing and gloat, I’ll be made to kneel, and to show my neck to other men.” He was clenching the fabric so hard, ruining the fine embroidery.  
  
"You belong to the Crown Prince," Sho answered tautly. "I have paid the silver equivalent for your life, and if I fall in battle, the next Crown Prince will have you." The voice paused as the prince clenched his jaw. "Don't worry, I made Jun promise that he would treat you well."  
  
"Prince Jun? That is your solution? To have me packaged up and sent to serve your brother's bed?" He remembered the handsome face, the amorous gaze and how much Sho hated the way Jun smiled at him. He could not believe that Sho would give him away. "Do you think that I have no feelings?"_  
  
 _Sho’s lips were tight, like there were a million things inside that he had to suppress, and Aiba knew beyond doubt that he had already lost the battle. Because between feelings and duty, Sho would always, without fail, choose duty._  
  
 _“I’ll never forgive you if you go,” he said coldly, releasing him._  
  
 _The Crown Prince did not even turn around, just raised his chin up an inch, and walked away._  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Sho was here. He had found them at Sakura Well, and now he was here, at the tower.  
  
Aiba couldn’t believe it at first. He thought he had seen a ghost, but then those lips—those intensely _kissable_ lips—had spoken his name, and all the resolve he’d built up during these months shattered like brittle glass.  
  
He wanted to walk away, to disentangle himself from Sho’s embrace. He thought it’d be fitting justice if he could turn his head aside and deny those hateful lips their kiss. But Sho’s face and Sho’s scent and Sho’s steely arms were suddenly all around him, just like that night when he was nothing but a virgin of sixteen, and Aiba… Curse it! How could two years have passed, and his defenses not improved even a _little_ bit?  
  
“I told you, I’m a hunter,” breathed the prince, and then their lips were touching and Aiba could feel every shake in Sho’s words. “I would have hunted through all the empire to find you again.”  
  
He pushed the limp Aiba up against the wall, his hands rough with lustful urgency.  
  
“Three months,” he growled. “I ought to have that Ninomiya whipped with a nine-thonged leather. To think that he had you locked here right under my nose for _three months_! Tell me truthfully now, Masaki, did he force you?”  
  
“What? Never!” Aiba broke away, breathing heavily as he looked pleadingly to his former lover. “Sho, isn’t it already enough that he spent last night in your dungeons? Nino did nothing wrong. He and I— he treated me honorably. He didn’t even touch me until three days after we met. Please, he—”  
  
“He still touched you in the end, didn’t he?” Sho cut across him in a dangerous voice. Aiba gulped as a powerful hand gripped his throat. Why was it only now that he remembered how ruthless the Crown Prince could be in his fits of jealousy?  
  
“Did you like it, Masaki?” The fingers squeezed his throat tighter. “Did Ninomiya pleasure you? Did he hold you through the nights and touch you where you’d moan?”  
  
Aiba grimaced in pain, but inside, he felt that familiar bitterness beginning to cover his tongue again.  
  
Like Sho knew anything about pleasuring people. Like Sho ever cared how _he_ felt when they had been together. Sho the Crown Prince was just that, the Crown Prince, and even though he took liberties with Aiba, he was still royalty down to his bones, accustomed to being serviced, and once the silver changed hands, content to leave his courtesan to whatever loneliness awaited him in the rooms of a cold pleasure house.  
  
Aiba remembered the pouches of silver in the House of Facing Leaves. He remembered how he had hated Sho back then, and sourly, he glanced into the prince’s eyes.  
  
“I am just a courtesan, your Highness,” he answered sullenly. “Why should you care—Ah!”  
  
The fingers around his throat tightened sharply and through fluttering eyes, he saw a livid fire spring to life in his prince.  
  
“I’ve half a mind to strangle you right here, Aiba Masaki,” snarled Sho. “For all the hell you put me through, the sleepless nights and tortured days and worries—yes, endless blasted worries—about your delicate whereabouts, I come back from almost getting killed in war to find you in another man’s arms and all you have to offer me is this? _‘I am just a courtesan?_ ’” His nostrils flared as he pushed Aiba further into the wall. “How dare you!” he whispered fiercely.  
  
His fiery eyes dipped and caught sight of how Aiba’s lip was trembling. There was a pause of only a second or so, and then, with a moan of final surrender, Aiba tilted his head back, letting Sho see the smooth curves of his throat.  
  
Sho was on him in the blink of an eye, feverish kisses claiming him, sucking him, leaving a trail of searing marks on his skin.  
  
“ _You were never just a courtesan_.” He gripped Aiba hotly, and in the slanting sunset, with his collar askew and his harsh lips bruised and the flush of passion glazed with gold on his cheeks, the mantle of pride finally fell and the man behind it was revealed to the courtesan’s dumbstruck eyes.  
  
Suddenly, Aiba realized, there was no Crown Prince in front of him anymore.  
  
Just a grown up boy with far too much silk on his shoulders, begging to be loved, scared to be rejected, exhausted— _so_ exhausted— from the long battle of passion and duty.  
  
“Come back with me, Masaki.” The voice sounded broken. “Not to the House, come to the palace. There’ll be no more war, I swear it. Because if you run away again, I—I…”  
  
“Shh—”Aiba stopped him with a light finger. “Don’t talk nonsense like that, Sho.”  
  
He leaned forth and kissed that face, right eyelid, left eyelid, nose, then mouth, and sighed as the ties of his kimono slid out of their knots.  
  
“I love you, you know.” Sho’s eyes were haunted as they stared at his offering. “When I take you, it’s—it’s never been just for your body. It’s you, your whole person that captures me and enlivens me and I _need_ you. Please, Masaki, don’t turn away from me again. Come home with me.”  
  
For a moment, Aiba’s expression remained unchanged, and then he broke into a smile that put both the sun and moon to shame.  
  
“Your home will be my home,” he promised, and let the silken garment slip smoothly to the floor.  
  
A tear rolled down Sho’s cheek. He pretended not to see it.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
 _Their deeds of the flesh were always full of fire. Sho would take him, gentle at times, rough at others, fingers in his hair, moisture on his neck. Their bodies writhed like joyous fishes, the part where they joined glistening with searing heat. Sho would mount him, ride him and buck into where the oil rimmed his skin, and he would clench the bedsheets so tight they would sometimes tear against his fingernails._  
  
 _The first time he said “I love you,” he whimpered it into his pillow. Sho never heard it. But to be fair, he supposed it would have been hard to hear anything over the slapping of Sho’s thighs against his buttocks._  
  
 _He didn’t say it again, just continued to give his body up, night after night in the House of Facing Leaves._  
  
 _He never thought that a day would come when Sho would understand it. And he never dreamed that when that day came, Sho would be the one to utter those three words into the rosy haze between them.  
  
Love, what a strange creature, he thought._  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Aiba only saw Nino once after Sho released him from the dungeons. The mysterious master of the tower was haggard, grumpy, and not at all pleased to find the Crown Prince hand in hand with Aiba as they stood by to greet him.  
  
“Consider your debt repaid,” he said morosely to Aiba. “Now go, fly back to your prince. I have no wish to see either of you again.”  
  
Hurt, Aiba drew back, but then stopped when he noticed Nino’s eyes and how they glistened.  
  
“Liar,” he chided gently, but didn’t say anything more. He gave Nino’s hand a squeeze. Some things were better left unsaid, he thought guiltily as he walked back to where Sho was waiting with narrowed eyes.  
  
“Goodbye, beauty.” Nino gave him a grateful look.  
  
“Goodbye.” Aiba nodded. They had shared a special bond, but it was now time to end it.  
  
Sho’s arm was around him before any tears could be shed, and he was whisked up on a stern black stallion in one fluid move.  
  
“Don’t look back,” said Nino quietly.  
  
And then they were off, galloping away with Sho encircling him, their flowing silks fluttering in the wind like banners.  
  
“Never leave me again,” Sho murmured possessively against his neck.  
  
“No, never,” Aiba agreed warmly, and he tucked the top of his head deeper under Sho’s smiling chin.  
  
 _I’m exactly where I belong_ , he decided, feeling a ticklish chuckle through that throat.  
  
 _Right here in Sho’s arms._  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
END  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~


End file.
